


Contagion

by volley



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volley/pseuds/volley
Summary: Oh dear... Enterprise must face a lockdown!
Kudos: 13





	Contagion

**Author's Note:**

> No disrespect is intended for all the people who have suffered and are still suffering for the recent pandemia. I just thought our favourite characters ought to share the frustration and boredom of a lockdown!

Phlox hummed softly under his breath as he walked the empty corridors of the Enterprise. There was nothing like knowing that things were beginning to be under control – so to speak – to make one cheerful. He’d had to insist the Captain follow his recommendations, but in the end Archer had yielded. It was clear to Phlox by now that humans, when faced with illness, tended not to fight against his advice, except perhaps for their resident Armoury Officer.

The ship was on autopilot and orbiting the M-class planet they had recently discovered and explored, and as he entered the mess hall Phlox let his eyes stray to the window and the sight of the present view, one of lush vegetation and blue water expanses. So attractive and innocent-looking… There’s no way they could have known.  
With a shrug of his shoulders, he went to the cabinet and checked the food on offer. Chef was not going out of his way to provide much variety these days. Well, no wonder, poor man, all his helpers were sick. Good thing Chef himself was not. Phlox grabbed a plate of meatloaf and potatoes, Commander Tucker’s favourite, making a mental note to check on the man first, when he went on his evening rounds.

The outbreak had taken them all by surprise. The decon chamber had done its duty to reveal the micro-organism that had infected Lieutenant Reed, and it seemed to have eradicated it. Phlox still did not know how it was possible that little bugger had survived past their usual processes of decontamination and especially past his detection as Reed had left the decon chamber. It was something he needed to investigate. No time for it now: the illness had spread so quickly that in the matter of a couple of days he’d had to ask the Captain to recall all the teams and confine the crew to their quarters, those that were sick to rest and get better, those who were fine to avoid any risk of contagion. It had already been a week now.

“Doc…” a scratchy voice crackled through the comm link.

Ah, here we go. With a sigh, Phlox put his plate down on the nearest table and went to answer the page. “Yes, Commander.”

“My head’s splittin’.”

“Patience, Mr. Tucker. You’re first on the list,” Phlox reassured. The Commander was not someone who’d complain unnecessarily; however, he’d given him the last painkiller dose in the afternoon. “It’s too early for another shot. You’ll have to wait a while.” An unhappy groan floated out of the comm link.

Phlox returned to his meal. Ah – he’d also try some of those odd-looking vegetables Crewman Larsson seemed so fond of. 

-&\- 

The computer beeped, incoming video call appearing on its screen. From his bed, Malcolm eyed it half-heartedly; then put his book down, rolled on one side and quickly lifted himself to sitting. Perhaps too fast. Blasted bug! Any abrupt change of position still made him dizzy. Of course, of all the people who had gone down to the planet, he was the one who had to get the infection and carry it on board! Brilliant! 

He already knew who’d be calling. What the heck, being confined to his quarters was driving him crazy. Shuffling to the desk barefoot, he opened the communication and a certain Commander’s face filled the screen. He let himself drop on the desk chair.

“How you holdin’ up today?” Trip drawled.

Malcolm lifted his eyebrows. The man still looked pretty awful himself. “What do you think?” he flatly replied. And when silence stretched, he went on, “Still as dizzy and bored to death as the last time you called. Ah – and mad as hell for being the one who spread the bug to the crew. Don’t think I’ll qualify for Best Security Officer this time round…”

Trip’s chuckle turned into a moan. “Where the hell is Phlox? He promised he’d come with that hypo…”

“Can’t even knock myself out with a few stiff ones,” Malcolm went on, following his own train of thought, “Doctor’s orders.”

“Don’t even mention alcohol,” Trip warned. “I don’t need a headache on top of the one I already have.”

Just then his doorbell rang. Malcolm watched relief smooth out the wrinkles that had marred his friend’s usually jovial face. 

“Finally,” Trip breathed out. “Talk to ya later, as usual. Set your fleet up.”

And he cut the link.

-&\- 

Commander Tucker had something in him of the child. As he left the man’s quarters, Phlox wondered, not for the first time, how such a brilliant mind could coexist with that trait of his personality. One moment he might be taming an engine that could blow them to smithereens and discussing warp theory, the next he was perhaps fooling around or arguing with Lieutenant Reed over the choice of movie for his beloved creature, “movie night”. Not that Phlox minded. He liked someone with an outgoing personality.

Now here was somebody – Phlox mulled as he approached his next stop – who, instead, was as flat as a punctured tyre. Flat, actually, was not the first adjective that came to mind when one set eyes on Subcommander T’Pol – he mused with an inner chuckle; no male crewman on board would call the shapely woman that. But one could not argue that her tone of voice was as predictable as Rigel Five’s weather. 

“Subcommander,” Phlox said, unconsciously putting extra oomph in his voice as he greeted the lady in question, “how are you feeling today?” Like Denobulans, Vulcans were generally resilient to the ailments that affected their human colleagues, but this time T’Pol had fallen victim as well.

“Doctor. I regret to inform you that I am still afflicted by double vision, numbness in my limbs and ringing in my ears”.

“That must be quite annoying, considering your enhanced listening apparatus,” Phlox commented. Of course, the virus had hit T’Pol in a completely different way, making her a case in itself. Phlox held his breath and his rotund midsection in and endeavoured to slip past her. He set his bag down on the desk. “Let me take a few readings”.

As he passed his tricorder over her, his eyes strayed to the slight twitch of her mouth, which seemed to go in rhythm with some thumps on the wall that separated her quarters from Captain Archer’s. “Something the matter?” he asked.

“Doctor,” T’Pol immediately replied in a voice that held an unusual measure of urgency, “I request that you ask the Captain to refrain from practising his water-polo throws against our dividing wall”.

“Will do,” Phlox chimed as he put his instrument away. “I’ll leave you some pills, should your symptoms worsen. One every six hours. Oh, and be careful with those open flames,” he warned, pointing to the meditation candles scattered around T’Pol’s quarters. “We wouldn’t want you to have an accident, given the state of your eyesight.”

T’Pol’s eyebrows lifted. “It is essential that I meditate, under the present circumstances,” she said. And as another thump reached Phlox’s ears, her mouth twitched again.

-&\- 

“Phlox, what am I supposed to do, locked in my quarters with Porthos?” Archer was complaining to him a moment later. “I’m not even sick!”

“One of the lucky few. T’Pol is. You could watch a water polo match instead, Captain. That would be a lot less noisy.”

“Look, can’t I go to the observation lounge or… or my private mess hall?”

“Now, now, Captain. We have been over this before. All staff members who are susceptible to the illness are quarantined. The ship is being sanitized. Until at least that is done… After all, it’s for your own good, you might get infected.”

“Aw, all right,” Archer finally conceded, with an unhappy smirk. He could be a stubborn and determined man, but you could always count on him to bend to reason.

“This virus won’t last forever,” Phlox said with a smile, “a couple more weeks at most.”

“A couple…” Archer’s green eyes went wide, and a strange glint crossed them. “Doctor!”

“I’m working on a vaccine,” Phlox hurried to add. “Let’s keep up the good spirits. If you’re worried about Porthos, I can take him with me to Sickbay, the walk ought to make him happy.”

“No, thank you.”

The Captain grabbed his pet and held him close to his chest, a frown firm in place. Humans never stopped amazing him; take this form of attachment to a canine, for instance. Intriguing.

-&\- 

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “A-7.”

“Empty space, not even a nebula.” Trip scratched his head. “F-13.”

“Sorry, Commander... C-12.”

“Damn. Hit and blown out of the sky. How the hell d’you do it, Malcolm? You haven’t found a way of cheatin’, have ya?”

Trip’s face filled the screen, as if the man were trying to pop out of it to make sure. A smug smile pulled at Malcolm’s lips. “I’m the Armoury Officer, remember?” he said in his dangerous voice. “Was that the Bird-of-Prey or the Andorian ship?”

“Nothin’ as big and important as that,” Trip retorted, “just a Suliban cell ship.” He blew out a puff. “Anyway, I’m tired of this game of yours. There’s no fun in it, ya always win.”

“Well then let me return to my book and go watch some movie,” Malcolm bit back.

There was a silence.

“I’m bored.”

Malcolm had nothing to object to that. This forced confinement was boring as hell.

-&\- 

A red light flashed on Hoshi’s computer. “Obnoxious,” she said to Mayweather, who glared at her through the screen. “Ending on the S of Secret. And I’ve used all my letters. Count the score, I’ve got to answer a voice call from Commander Tucker.” She reached for the button and opened the link, watching Travis’s eyes mellow as he broke into an admiring grin. Hoshi smiled to herself, she was trouncing him at Scrabble but the man never lost his cheerfulness.

“Commander?” Hoshi said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checkin’ on ya,” Trip’s voice replied. “Didn’t want to make a video call, in case you were, ya know… unpresentable.”

Hoshi smiled. “Me, unpresentable?” In truth, she did have dark circles under her eyes and was rather pale, but she was in good company, most of the crew were not at their best. “Getting better,” she said, “though Phlox says I’m still contagious.”

“So… What have ya been doing, to kill the time?”

Trip’s voice had that undercurrent of naughtiness that might lead to no good. 

“A number of things. Right now, I’m in the middle of a game of Scrabble with Travis,” Hoshi said.

“Huh. Who’s winnin’?”

“Who do you think?” Hoshi made a dismissive gesture to Mayweather, who was glaring once again.

“Ah, poor Travis, pitched against our resident linguist,” Trip said with a chuckle. “Mind ya, Malcolm just beat me for the umpteenth time at that stupid Starship Battle game of his…” 

There was a pause.

“Listen, I was thinkin’…” the man went on, and Hoshi, who could interpret more than foreign words, braced herself.

-&\- 

Phlox smiled courteously at Ensign Müller and the couple of crewmen who, masked and suited in coveralls, were spraying the turbolift. “Very nice,” he said to Lieutenant Reed’s second in command.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Müller was a thorough person. Part of it was his nature, part having to respond to a demanding boss. He could rest assured that the man would do a good job of sanitizing the ship. It was a wonder he had escaped contagion so far, working as he had in close contact with Reed. Phlox made a mental note to investigate that, there might be something in Müller’s blood worth taking a closer look at.

Ah, here he was. His next stop. Phlox pressed the companel. A few moments later the door opened.

“Mr. Mayweather!”

“Evening, Doc.”

Phlox scrutinized the tense Ensign. “Have I interrupted something?”

“Uhm, no,” Mayweather sputtered. “Only you’re a bit early, that’s all.”

Mr. Mayweather was, as usual, an open book, but Phlox pretended not to notice his awkwardness. After all, he was only here to check on his health.

“Any residual nausea?” he enquired, reaching for his tricorder.

“Only when Hoshi beats me at Scrabble,” was the playful reply, “which is like saying always.” With a shrug of his broad and muscular shoulders, he more seriously added, “Not really, but I do feel drained of energy. And bored.”

“That’s to be expected.” Phlox studied his readings. “Rest, Ensign, rest. That’s your best course of action.”

“Yeah, well, there’s pretty well… nothing else to do.”

Phlox tilted his head in a courteous good-bye. “You know where to find me, should the need arise.” And he let himself out, wondering what that hesitation in Mayweather’s last sentence might mean.

-&\- 

“So?” Trip eagerly asked. Phlox’s last dose of painkiller had worked miracles.

“Respectfully, Sir,” Hoshi pointed out, “there are logistics problems to this idea of yours.”

“I know, Hoshi,” Trip said impatiently. “They can be solved.”

“And what about our orders?” Malcolm said, eyes narrowed in a critical expression.

Trip blew out a breath of irritation. “They’re recommendations, more than orders, Malcolm. Don’t be a spoilsport!”

“Recommendations, orders, it’s all the same,” the man testily insisted. “They’re given to be followed.”

“For the logistics problems we could always toss a coin,” Mayweather suggested. 

Trip looked at the three faces on his screen: Malcolm looked wary, Hoshi undecided, Travis excited.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Malcolm pressed, voice hoarse with qualms. “In fact, I’m sure it is not. We might end up chopped to pieces and fed to Phlox’s menagerie.” 

“Too dangerous for our Armoury Officer?” Trip teased him.

“No, but---"

“Good. Then let’s find that coin,” Trip interrupted him, rummaging through his desk drawer. 

“Would this one do?” Travis placed a large copper specimen near his computer’s camera, filling the screen of the others with its image. “It’s from my days on the cargo transport. I’m not even sure which world it comes from.”

Trip beamed. “Perfect. What’s that on it, a bird or an elephant?”

Travis looked at one face of the coin, and then at the other. “Uhm, it’s a weird animal, a bird with an elephant trunk, and on the other side there’s something vaguely looking like a… pineapple.”

“We choose pineapple, in Malcolm’s honour.” Trip grinned, determined to go ahead with his plan. You and Hoshi can have the Birdephant. Flip, Ensign. And don’t cheat.”

Travis did not have to be told twice. He threw the coin in the air and let it fall on the floor. For a moment he disappeared from view; then emerged again.

“Pineapple.”

Hoshi smirked. “Me being the only female, you guys could be good sports and...”

“Come on, Hoshi,” Trip rushed to put in, “Don’t you start too.” He nodded to Travis. “Flip again, Ensign. Pineapple: Malcolm’s; Birdephant: mine.”

-&\- 

Archer looked at the time: close to 23 hundred hours. He passed a hand over his face. Porthos was sleeping, curled up at the foot of his bed, the picture of bliss. Lucky guy, he thought; he wished he could do the same. 

“Piece of cheese, Porthos?” he said out loud, wanting, if he couldn’t sleep, at least to share his misery with his pet. Porthos’s ears immediately jerked up and he lifted his head. “That’s a good boy. Here.”

Archer went to get the prize he had promised, followed by a happy dog. “Tell you what,” Archer went on, as he fed a chunk of the usually off-limits food to his friend, “I’ll take you for…” He bit his lower lip and stopped himself before he promised something he could not do. Now this was ridiculous. A determined expression firmly on his face, he stretched across his bed and pressed a button, opening a comm link. “Phlox? Are you there?”

“Of course I am, Captain,” the Doctor’s unmistakable voice replied after a moment. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Porthos isn’t getting enough exercise, confined to my cabin,” Archer complained. “He’s getting antsy!”

“I’ll be there presently with something to relax him,” the Doctor said, unperturbed.

“That’s not the point. He needs his walk.”

“I did offer to take him to Sickbay, Captain…”

Archer passed a frustrated hand through his hair. “All right, Doctor, I am getting antsy. I need a walk.” He could almost sense that ridiculous smile Phlox displayed sometimes even when unwarranted, the one that literally reached his ears.

“I see.”

Jon took a breath and held it in for a moment. Then he straightened his shoulders and charged ahead. “We want to go on a stroll.” And then he rushed on, “I’ll wear the full gear and won’t touch a thing, and besides, at this hour we won’t even bump into the sanitizing squad.”

There was a long silence, during which Archer closed his eyes and said a mental prayer.

“Can I trust you to take all the precautions?” Phlox finally came back.

“Scout’s honour!”

“All right, Captain,” Phlox conceded. “But don’t make me regret it...”

“Thank you, Doctor, I won’t, I promise,” Archer said, feeling like a teenager who had been granted a night out.

-&\- 

“I’m starting to feel claustrophobic,” Hoshi said in a whisper to her partner in crime. The coveralls they had been issued for health reasons, complete with a face shield and gloves, were not as bad as the EV suits but she was beginning to hate them all the same, feeling constricted in them.

“We’re almost at the turbo lift,” Mayweather whispered back. “Don’t you play any tricks on me, go berserk or – worse yet – faint.”

Behind her face shield, Hoshi smirked, but it was lost on Travis, too busy trying to get them where they were headed without mishaps.

They entered the turbo lift and, raising a gloved hand, Hoshi pushed the button to B deck. She did not dare input the vocal command, lest someone hear her, even though the ship seemed deserted.

-&\- 

“Doesn’t it feel great, Porthos, after a week of being locked in our quarters? I was beginning to feel like I was stuck in the brig.”

It was silly to talk to a dog, but every dog owner did that and Phlox even talked to his strange creatures, so it couldn’t really be that bad. Porthos looked up, as if to agree, and ambled contentedly along the corridor.

Archer heard the lift doors open and flattened against the wall. He had promised Phlox he’d take all the precautions and he was going to keep his word. Better not to bump into anyone. “Porthos,” he called in an urgent whisper, but the dog was too far ahead to hear him and disappeared behind the bend in the corridor. So, with his back to the bulkhead, Jon slowly crept forth.

“Oh dear, what is Porthos doing out here?” he heard someone whisper. “If he’s here, where’s the Captain?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t intend to find out,” another voice whispered back. “Come on… hurry!”

And so, he wasn’t the only one out... Hmmm. Archer took a peak and saw two figures slither away. Geared up as they were, he could not recognize them, but somehow, he had half an idea where they might be going. Yes? No… Malcolm’s?? He watched the two enter the Lieutenant’s quarters, then whistled softly and after a moment Porthos trotted back to him. Archer wondered what to do. As the ship’s Captain he ought to set standards and not be wandering around himself… On the other hand, the ship was quarantined for a reason. He sighed. Being in command, sometimes, was a heck of a job.

-&\- 

“Oof!”

Trip watched their Linguist blow out a breath of relief as she emerged from under her face shield. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. She started discarding her overalls. Travis’s gear already lay in a pile on the floor of Malcolm’s quarters, and the Armoury Officer was eyeing the disorder that was quickly being wreaked in his pristine digs with open malcontent.

“Did you bring them, Travis?” Trip asked.

“That’d be something,” Malcolm spat out, “if, after all this, he’d had forgotten them!”

Travis reached in one of his pockets. “Tada!”

Trip gave a thumbs-up. “And you, Hoshi?”

They looked at each other in silence.

“Brilliant!” Malcolm complained, managing at the same time to sound relieved. “You can suit up again and go back to your quarters.”

Trip bit his lower lip and narrowed his eyes in deep thought. “I know,” he finally said, “get out that collection of historic bullets you once showed me, Lootenant.”

“Ohhhh no,” Malcolm huffed out, “If you think that I’ll risk losing any of my painstakingly collected items to use them for…”

Hoshi burst out laughing, surprising them all. “Men!” she bantered, as she produced the box she’d been hiding behind her back.

Trip rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Boy I was tired of that Starship Battle game and of talking to someone through a screen!”

The quickly sat down around Malcolm’s desk.

-&\- 

Archer walked to Malcolm’s door and stopped in front of it. Were it not for his face shield, he would have cradled his chin, to help him think. Porthos looked up at him questioningly. Jon could hear muffled voices but could not make them out.

Ah, what the hell – he thought to himself, starting back towards his quarters. He wasn’t going to play policeman tonight. He’d just drop a hint to Phlox, next time he saw him, and let him tighten the screws of security. He was already a good way away when a little voice spoke to him. On the other hand… He turned about, an impish smile playing on his lips.

-&\- 

“I raise by… whatever this is,” Hoshi said, throwing a chip in the middle of the desk.

Malcolm studied her face. Only the two of them had remained in the game and he ought to be able to see past Hoshi’s poker face, what with his Section 31 experience and all, but reading the Linguist was near to impossible.

He threw two of the same chips on the table. “Double that.”

Hoshi did not flinch. “Let’s see what you have,” she said, meeting the challenge.

Malcolm put down his cards. “Full. Two kings and three tens.”

The mask Hoshi had been wearing relaxed. She raised innocent eyebrows. “Poker,” she said, revealing four Queens.

“Well done, Hosh,” Trip said, “beat the man to a pulp!”

And the door swished open.

They froze.

This is not happening, Malcolm thought, cringing. It must be a bad dream. “Captain,” he sputtered hoarsely, recognizing the man even under his protective gear by the fact that a beagle stood at his feet. He stopped at that, for there were no excuses.

Archer was lingering on the threshold and was watching them in silence. 

Trip, of course, was the first to speak. “Capt’n, I know how this looks,” he said, “but we’ve all got the bug, the four of us, and we took all the precautions so as not to touch anythin’ in the corridors.”

Was that a small smile tugging at Archer’s lips? Malcolm tried to see past the man’s visor. Maybe the Captain would be lenient, and they could get off scot free for once.

Another seemingly eternal moment of silence ensued.

“This is not what I expect from my best officers,” Archer said darkly, making Malcolm back-pedal on his previous thoughts.

The suspension was thick. The awkwardness too. But then unexpectedly…

“May I join you?” Archer asked, hope clear in his voice.

Malcolm was drawn to meet Trip’s amused glance. “Ah, Capt’n, seein’ as you haven’t caught the bug, ya can’t really come in here…” the Engineer said, his usual relaxed self.

Malcolm was having a hard time keeping a straight face himself. “Sorry, Sir,” he said, “but this is an… exclusive club.”

“Exclusive, huh?” Archer sighed and turned to leave. It was the first time in this entire quarantine that he’d found himself wishing he’d just go ahead and get sick already. “Come, Porthos, let’s go get some more cheese.”

To which Porthos gave a yelp of approval.

At least the damn dog was happy.


End file.
